


Unexpectedly Gone

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Confusion, Danger, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Flirting, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Pseudonyms, Separation, Sexting, Texting, argument, missing each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To avoid danger, Mycroft locks Sherlock away with nothing but the bare necessities, a woman and a phone. When he finally returns to Baker Street, it's not clear if things will be different but Sherlock and John both know they'll never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Argument

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock had started the whole thing -- he really had. John had meant to take his leftovers for lunch but he'd forgotten. Then he was too busy to actually get a lunch at work. And then he got home, famished and tired, and Sherlock had used his leftovers in some gross experiment about household cleaners dissolving food. Maybe John had overreacted. It was their worst fight yet -- bad enough that Mrs Hudson had come up and threatened to call Lestrade. John had stormed out and got a hotel for the night, fuming and regretting and worrying instead of sleeping. He had made his way back ready to apologise for how he had acted, but Sherlock was gone. 

_Where are you? -JW_

Sherlock pressed his head against the window of the plane, letting his eyes blur a bit. He was anxious. He had hated the fight with John, but more so he had hated feeling so out of control. He had just wanted John to stop, to end it, to go back and make it not a big deal so things would be good again in the flat. But John didn't stop. He carried on and on and then left. And Sherlock wasn't sure what that meant. He wasn't even sure John would come back.

So when Mycroft rang with a case, Sherlock jumped at it. It was something normal: something he could focus on while he waited for things to settle and -- hopefully -- return to usual at home. But the case hadn't been normal either and if Sherlock hadn't been so distracted by the fight, he'd have known that. Mycroft had told him to pack a bag; luggage was not required for a quick investigation, Sherlock knew that. But he had done what he was told and now he found himself on a plane, flying out somewhere, with no word from John and no idea what would come next. He got out his phone, but Mycroft reached over and took it from him before he could turn it on. 

"No need for that yet," Mycroft said. "You can have it when I give it back. Until then, no one needs any information on you or your whereabouts."

Sherlock looked back out the window and mumbled, "I just wanted to let John know what was going on."  
  
"Ah yes, your new flatmate…I was surprised he wasn't at the flat. Have you driven him away already?" Mycroft asked, appearing less interested in the answer than he was in his own phone which he was staring at.

"He…he was on a date," Sherlock lied.

"Well, I'm sure she'll keep him busy during your absence," Mycroft offered.

"How long will I be gone?"

"That depends."

"On what?" Sherlock asked.

"On how long I need you to be gone," Mycroft said and then turned to Sherlock. "Why don't you go to sleep for a bit? You look terrible."

"Thanks," Sherlock said. He leaned his head against the window again and closed his eyes.

John went into the kitchen to look for something to eat. He realised as he made his tea with one hand that he was clutching his phone and that there hadn't been a response yet. Just to be sure he went to check Sherlock's room, but it was empty. 

_Can you just let me know you're safe, please? -JW_

He stared at the message for a while before he sent it -- he hoped it wasn't too much seeing as their friendship was still so new. If there was a friendship at all after the way John had behaved. It was just food -- it didn't matter at all. But he'd been tired and hungry and irritated and that's what he kept telling himself to try to feel less guilty. It wasn't working. He ordered in and settled down to watch crap telly, hoping that any moment Sherlock was going to come through the door. John realised that even if Sherlock were still angry or refused to talk to him, it would still be good to see him. He kept the phone on his person but tried not to think about it. He failed miserably. After a while he pulled it open again.  

_I'm sorry. -JW_

There. Just in case that's what he was waiting for. Eventually John fell asleep on the sofa, not even bothering to move up to bed.

Sherlock didn't sleep but he went away in his head, trying not to think about what had happened or about the things which he did not yet know would happen.

When Mycroft tapped his shoulder, he opened his eyes. "We're here, Sherlock," Mycroft said.

Sherlock stood up. "Where? Where is here?"

"Scotland. Or it might be Wales. Or possibly France. It doesn't really matter, does it? We are not in London. You are not in London. That's all I needed."  
  
"We've been in the air for hours," Sherlock said, not entirely sure how long it actually had been, but it certainly seemed a long time.

"I know," Mycroft said. "We took the scenic route. I wanted to discombobulate you. Do you feel discombobulated?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, putting his hand to his head and slowly standing up.

"Then my success has been twofold. Well done me. Sit back down for a moment, Sherlock," Mycroft said, moving to the seat next to him. "I am going to give you an explanation now. You have information in your head that others would very much like to have. If those others were to locate that information, certain . . . projects would be in great danger. We cannot have that."  
  
"So I am in danger," Sherlock said. 

"Yes, though obviously it's the information that all of this has been designed to protect. Nonetheless, you are in danger and thus you need to be unlocate-able. So you are here in Scotland or Wales or perhaps the pilot said Mozambique . . .? Do you understand what I'm saying, Sherlock? It doesn't matter where you are as long as you are not in London and are not traceable by anyone. Except me obviously," Mycroft said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tracking device. "Lift your leg, please."  
  
"You cannot be serious," Sherlock said, almost laughing at how ridiculous this seemed.

"Do you know me, brother? Would I go to this trouble solely to irritate you?"

Sherlock looked over at Mycroft. Then he lifted his leg and Mycroft affixed the tracking bracelet to his ankle. "Irritating you is just a lovely side effect," he said. "It's a nice little place you'll be staying. I've left some books for you . . . you can have a good rest and soon this will all be over. But you are not to leave the hotel's grounds. Do you understand? I will know," he added, glancing down at the tracker, "and it will cause you nothing but grief." He shifted back in his seat. "No more than a week, I'd think, and you can go home."  
  
"A week?" Sherlock said. He hadn't been expecting that. "What about John?"

Mycroft's face crinkled. "Your flatmate? I'd think he'll survive without Sherlock Holmes for a week. He's survived much worse. In fact, I imagine he'll quite enjoy it. Mrs Hudson tells me there's been some trouble."  
  
"Not trouble . . . just -- it doesn't matter. Can't I at least tell him . . .tell him not to worry?"

"Of course," Mycroft said. "I'm happy to do that for you." He reached into his pocket and retrieved Sherlock's phone. He turned it on and read aloud " _Can you just let me know you're safe, please?_ Very sweet," he said, before seeing John's next text. "Oh my," he said sarcastically. "He's apologising. For what, may I ask?"

"You may not," Sherlock said, reaching for his phone.

Mycroft pulled it away and typed a message to John.

_You are forgiven. I will be out for a few days. I shall see you soon. SH_

"Should I put two kisses?" he asked and hit Send. "There, now John won't worry."

"I need to speak with him," Sherlock said. Because he did -- he suddenly felt an urgent need to speak to John. "I won't leave this plane unless you tell me I can speak to him."

Mycroft sighed. "Did you just stop aging at fifteen? You are such a child, Sherlock." He stood up and moved across the aisle, reaching for a case. "Luckily, I was prepared for a child." He handed the case to Sherlock who opened it.

Inside were a few packs of cigarettes, some scientific journals, two boxes of tea, and two mobile phones. Mycroft reached over and picked one up, quickly typing. The one inside the case vibrated. Sherlock lifted it and read the text.

_Goodbye, Smith. Enjoy your holiday._

"Your phone and this one stay with me. You keep that one. These are burner phones, untraceable. But they're for emergencies only. Do you understand?"

"Untraceable by anyone?" Sherlock asked.

"By anyone but me," Mycroft said.

"And you'll give it to John?"

"Are you absolutely sure, Sherlock?" Mycroft said, looking over at him. "You do understand this, yes? I cannot have you kicking off like a child, putting everything into danger. If it will keep you here and quiet, I'll give the phone to John. But you do understand . . . he could be in danger as well if they think he knows where you are." He watched him for a moment. "Do you want me to give this to John?"

Sherlock thought. He did not want John to be in danger. But if someone really were trying to find Sherlock, John could already be in danger. It just seemed too horrible being unable to speak to John.

"I understand everything," he finally said. "Please give John the phone." And then more quietly, he added, "I'll be good."  
  
Mycroft nodded and then said, "A car's waiting for you." Sherlock grabbed his bag and the case and they walked down the stairs of the plane. It was freezing out -- they were definitely not in Mozambique. Sherlock tried to look around quickly, but Mycroft bundled him into the car. "Mr Smith is ready now," he said to the driver. He looked at Sherlock. "Goodbye. I shall see you soon."

Sherlock watched out the window as the car took off.

Something on the telly made John jolt up and he looked around the room, confused for a moment on where he was. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, closing up his food box and putting in on the coffee table. Then he remembered what he had been doing on the sofa in the first place. "Sherlock?" he called out, not even caring if he woke the man up. Had he come home? John went to check his room, and it looked exactly the same as before. He sighed and went to find his phone. He had to fish it out of the cushion, but his heart leapt when he saw the light blinking. He read the message and frowned softly. That was all? But where was he going? Why had he left like that? Just because he was angry and he had the means to get farther than a hotel down the street?

_Okay. Be careful. -JW_

He sighed and turned the telly off, put his food away in the fridge and then made his way up to bed. He crawled in and couldn't help wondering where Sherlock was now, wishing that he could have gone along. He had liked going on the cases with Sherlock and he hoped he hadn't ruined everything. Eventually he drifted off again, snoring softly.

The car dropped Sherlock off at the hotel, which wasn't actually a hotel but he couldn't quite tell what it had once been. A woman came out from behind a door and asked, "Smith?"

Sherlock looked her over. Her accent . . . was no accent really, but he could tell she wasn't using her usual voice. "Yes," he said.

She reached behind a desk and grabbed some things and then guided Sherlock to follow her. "Here's your room," she said unlocking a door. "You'll need to read these. There's a phone that only rings to the front. Use it if you need anything. Anything reasonable. The man who made your reservation has explained that, though you have been difficult in the past, you understand that you're expected to behave properly while you here. Is that correct, Mr Smith?"

God -- Mycroft was so very good at making Sherlock feel like a child, he didn't even need to be here to do it. He went into the room as the woman walked away. He dropped his things on the bed. It was a small, bare room. He dumped out the packet she'd handed him, noticing there was no room key inside. He grabbed the pages that had filled it and retrieved a packet of cigarettes. He opened the small window, lit a cigarette and read the papers. They only repeated the instructions Mycroft had already given him. When he'd finished his cigarette, he took off his coat and shoes and lay down on the bed. He thought about John and felt horrible about the fight they'd had. He hoped John wasn't worrying. He grasped the phone even though he knew no one would attempt to reach him. He tried to go to sleep.


	2. Smith and Jones

In the morning, Mycroft took a car to Baker Street. He said hello to Mrs Hudson and then walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.

John was sleeping soundly, not hearing the knock at the door. He had taken too long to fall asleep the night before and he was exhausted.

"Doctor Watson, answer the door, please," Mycroft called.

John heard the shouting and he groaned, dragging himself out of bed and making his way for the door. Sherlock had a key -- who on earth would be knocking at this time? He realised he didn't even know what time it was. He pulled the door open and blinked at Mycroft. "Oh. Sherlock's not here," he said.

"I know. It's you I need to speak with. Can I come in?" he asked as he walked in anyways. He looked around the flat -- like he was looking for something. "Are we alone?" he asked.

"Yes, I just told you he's not home," John said. He was annoyed now because he was tired and Mycroft was being . . . annoying.

"Have you left the flat since you returned yesterday or let anyone -- anyone at all -- into it?"

"Tell me what is going on," John said.

"The flat was swept yesterday for listening devices and it is currently clean. I will try to keep an eye on it, but I'm afraid I cannot guarantee anything if you decide to go out. However, we can speak freely at the moment," he explained as he sat down on the sofa. "You know the world in which I work, yes -- where sometimes information I possess cannot be accessed by others? Well, you seem to have become a part of that world, Doctor Watson. And at the moment I have information that is inaccessible to you." He paused and looked over before adding, "And so does Sherlock."

"So that's where he is? Where did you take him?" John asked, sitting in his chair.

"We have been notified that there is a specific risk to the information that Sherlock possesses, and therefore he had gone on 'holiday' in a place where he cannot be found, until the threat is neutralised. We hope that will be soon. Until that time, I'm afraid, he himself is inaccessible to you." He had the burner phone in his pocket, but thought he would test the waters with Watson before offering it -- Mycroft knew Sherlock's insistence on being in contact with John might be one of his typical, childish reactions. If John was satisfied with Mycroft's explanation, he would just leave it at that.

"Inaccessible?" John asked, raising his brows. "No. I want to speak with him," he said.

"The two of you . . . " Mycroft said. "You know none of this is about you, yes? However, you are involved. They know where Sherlock lives and it is currently where you live. If they wanted information on his whereabouts, to whom do you think they would come first? This is a dangerous situation, John. Are you sure you wouldn't rather remain as ignorant of the details as possible?"

"Of course not! I want to talk to Sherlock!" John said.

Mycroft took the phone out of his pocket. He pushed redial.

Sherlock had slept on and off throughout the night, spending most of the time hidden away in his mind palace, remembering good things rather than thinking of his unpleasant reality. He heard the phone ring and rushed to answer.

"Yes?" Sherlock said cautiously.

"Mr Smith, we spoke yesterday. I mentioned my colleague, Mr Jones. He's here with me now. Would you like to say hello?" Mycroft said into the phone.

"Yes."

Mycroft turned to John. "Be careful -- nothing that would identify either of you," he said. He handed John the phone.

"Hello?" John asked simply, waiting to hear Sherlock's voice.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said.

Mycroft pulled the phone away. "Thank you, Smith. We'll be in touch soon," he said and hung up. He quickly sent a text.

_Emergencies only._

Then Mycroft handed John the phone. "This is for emergencies only, John. It should be safe, but in all honesty, every call puts both of you -- and the information -- at risk. For all his faults, I know I can trust my brother. Can I trust you?"

"Yes," John said easily, taking the phone back.

"He's safe," Mycroft said, his voice softening for the first and last time during this visit. "That's what you need to know. If anyone asks, you tell them he's off with our mother, whose health has taken a turn for the worse. That's all anyone else needs to know." He stood up and walked to the door. But before he opened it, he turned back. "He will be in touch, I know he will -- he requested the phones. But let him make the first contact, please. You're the sensible one here, aren't you, Doctor Watson? Don't court danger. With him in your life, it will eventually find you but there's no need to hurry it along." He opened the door and said, "You know how to reach me," before leaving down the stairs.

John watched him leave and then looked down at the phone. Emergencies only. He looked at the door again before hitting redial. Just one more second.

It was good hearing John's voice, but horrible that all Sherlock got was one word. Naturally, he instantly thought of calling back, but knew that if he did, Mycroft might not leave the phone with John. He lay back down on the bed. A few minutes later the phone rang.

"Hello?" he said. Was it an emergency or one of Mycroft's tricks?

"I know it's for emergencies only but I wanted to make sure you're okay," John said quietly, as if Mycroft was still listening.

"Do you forgive me?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. I wasn't even mad at you -- I had just had a long day. I'm sorry," John said quietly. "I didn't mean it."

"I didn't like when you left," Sherlock said. He made a little cough. "Thank you for calling. I'll see you soon, Mr Jones."

"Talk to you soon, Mr. Smith." When they hung up John hated himself even more that the fight had been the last words he'd said to Sherlock in person. At least now the air was cleared and hopefully he would be home again soon. He went back up to his room to lay down, hoping he could get a bit more sleep before he properly started his day.

Sherlock stared at the phone for a few minutes. Then there was a knock at the door. "Mr Smith?" a woman's voice asked.

Sherlock opened the door. It was the same woman as last night. She had a tray in her hand. "Lunch," she said, handing him the tray. "Two emergencies already?" she asked.

"Pardon?"

"The phone -- for emergencies only and it's already rung twice."

"Yes, um, all's well now," he said and turned and shut the door. He set the tray on the bed. Opening it, he saw a banana, some toast and a hard-boiled egg. The only food he'd ever even consider eating so soon after waking up. Clearly, Mycroft's doing.

He made himself a cup of tea and sat down on the bed. He set the phone on his lap. He finished his toast and ate some of the egg and the banana and then picked up the phone.

_Texting may be easier, Mr Jones. S_

_We won't get in trouble? -J_

Sherlock covered the phone with his hand and then changed the setting to vibrate only.  
  
 _I don't know. I just wanted to contact you. It feels like an emergency. S_

_I agree. It turns out my leg fell off. -J_

_I wish you were here.  
_

Sherlock stared at the message for a few moments before he added to it.

_I wish you were here. I'm bored. S_

He hit send.

John grinned at the message and then sobered up a bit. It was Sherlock's usual stuff -- being bored - -but for some reason he liked it better now.

_I wish you were here too because getting around on one leg is awful work. -J_

Sherlock smiled, remembering John's cane when they first met.

_I had to make my own tea. I realise now how helpful you are. I'm not sure I'm as helpful to you. S_

_Hmm. I'll keep a tab open for you. -J_

_Don't disrupt any of my things, please. I'll know if you touch anything. S_

_I'm pretty unstable on this leg--I can't promise anything. -J_

_Definitely don't look under my bed. No matter what. Don't go look under my bed. S_  
  
 _Well now you know that I have to, right? -J_

John got up and made his way to Sherlock's room, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting his reply.

_Look and tell me what it makes you remember. S_

John got on the floor and reached under the bed. He knew as soon as he touched it. He pulled out his old cane. He wondered why Sherlock had this under his bed. He smiled softly.

_Makes me think of you. -J_

_And the beginning? It makes me think of the beginning. S_

_It makes me think about how much I owe you. And makes me feel even guiltier for yelling. -J_

_Don't feel guilty. I'm sorry I'm not home. S_

_This cane will help my one legged self until you can return to carry me. -J_

John hoped going back to the joking would ease the heavy feeling in his chest.

_I'm sure I'll be well rested after my break. Are you working today? S_

_No. I have the day off. I asked for it off so I could do something for you, to make up, you know? -J_

He felt silly writing it out but it was true.

_Now I feel guilty. I don't like the feeling. I always suspected feelings were horrible, now I know. S_

_Well, guilt isn't a good feeling. You have to wait for good feelings before you judge. Also, if you blame M like I am, it's easier. -J_

_I know he's frustrating. But he's right. I do wish you could have come with me though. S_

_Me too. -J_

John realised he was smiling at his phone.

_I am going to make some breakfast now. I'll be right back. -J_

Sherlock stood up and made another cup of tea. He lay back down on the bed, flicking through the journals Mycroft had left in the briefcase.

John left the phone on the bed and went down to the kitchen, thinking about it for several minutes before deciding to go with cereal -- he was too lazy for extra work. He poured the bowl and headed back to Sherlock's room.

_I'm eating in your bed. -J_

_That is disgusting, Mr Jones. S_

_Oh well. You can't stop me. -J_

John grinned and thought about adding a smiley face but then decided not to. _  
_

Sherlock looked around the dull room. He missed the flat.

_Perhaps you should use your day off to tidy the flat. It's a pigsty really. That's no way to live. S_

_Someone should tell my flatmate. -J_

_I pity him. He must be a saint to tolerate your mess. S_

_Yeah, but he brings heads home so we're even. -J_

_So why do you put up with him? S_

_"Putting up" makes it sound like one of us has it worse. I don't think that's true. -J_

_He sounds annoying though. You should chuck him out. Why don't you? Tell me. S_

Sherlock wasn't sure why he wanted John to tell him. But he did.

John stared at the message and wished he knew how to say everything he wanted to say. He took a deep breath.

_He saved me. -J_

Sherlock stared at the text a long time before he replied.

_Thank you for returning the favour in ways I know you don't understand. S_

He rolled over on the bed.

_I'm going to nap now. See you soon. S_

_I want to understand. Maybe one day you will tell me. Talk to you later. -J_

John put the phone down and went to get his computer, working on the blog and then watching movies on it on Sherlock's bed. He kept the phone in sight so he could see when Sherlock texted again.


	3. Flirting

When Sherlock had arrived last night, he had assumed he'd spend today wandering around the building, trying to figure out where he was, who was looking for him, and how to stop them. In truth, though, he didn't feel like doing that right now. He moved the tray to the small table and lay back down on the bed. And while he'd only been awake a short time, he quickly fell asleep.

John got up for lunch but quickly found himself in Sherlock's room again. After eating he dozed off for a bit, hands curled into his chest with the phone. He had an odd dream about Sherlock not really being gone, but simply hiding in the basement flat to try and teach John a lesson. But he couldn't figure out the lesson and until he did Sherlock was trapped.

When Sherlock woke up, he looked at the phone. There were no new messages and though he thought about sending John one, what he really wanted to do was just be at home, talking to John across the sitting room. Sherlock tried to practice a little restraint. He got up and stretched and left his room.

He walked down to the front of the building and saw the woman, who looked up at him and then back down at whatever she was doing. He moved over to her desk.

"How far can I walk before . . . you know," he asked, glancing down at his leg where the tracker was.

"The perimeters of the grounds are clear -- don't go past those. Are you going out?" she asked.

"I might," Sherlock said.

She stood up and went into a small room before returning with a large, brown parka coat. "If you go out, you'll need to wear these," she said, laying it and a woolly hat on the desk.

"Seriously?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm afraid so," she said and smiled a little.

"Even if I'm just going out to smoke?" Sherlock asked, making no move to replace his coat with the parka.

"You can smoke in your room," she said with a look that revealed she knew he already had.

"And are you coming with me as well?" he asked. Safety was one thing, but Sherlock knew Mycroft probably also got quite a thrill out of Sherlock's being treated like a child by complete strangers.

"Are you flirting with me, Mr Smith?" she asked, her smile widening.

"What? No," Sherlock said too abruptly. "Forget it. I don't need to go out." He headed back to his room and reached in his pocket for the key to unlock the door, before remembering he was never given a key. He went back to the desk. "Can I get a key, please?"

"I'll unlock it for you," she said, standing up and heading to his room. She unlocked the door. "There you go."  
  
Sherlock stepped in but before she left, he asked, "Key, please?"

"Unnecessary," she said. "During the day, you can come out anytime and I'll always be here to let you back in."

"Does that mean I'm locked in here at night?" Sherlock asked.

"I unlocked you when I brought your lunch," she said. "It's for your protection obviously. During the day, though, you're free -- well, you know what I mean, relatively free."

"So I can go outside but only if I stand in the grass while wearing a ridiculous disguise? And inside -- is there anything in this building a 'relatively free' person might find an interesting way to spend his time?"

"Not really. Empty rooms, grey paint, florescent lighting. Of course, there's always the single woman at the front desk. A 'relatively free' person might find her interesting," she said flirtatiously.

"No thank you," Sherlock said, pushing the door closed. He sunk down on the bed. He really was trapped here. Mycroft was serious. This was all deadly serious.

All Sherlock wanted to do now was go home to John.

John woke up suddenly and he felt awful -- he hadn't solved the lesson and even more he found himself feeling annoyed with Sherlock for the trick. Then he remembered where Sherlock was and John's annoyance faded quickly. He wasn't in the basement playing a trick. He was far away and possibly in danger. He looked at the emergency phone but there were no new messages; he considered sending a quick text. _Missing him isn't an emergency._ John got up and went to take a shower for something to do. It was odd -- they never really did things together all day but without Sherlock here he felt incredibly bored, like he was wasting away the day. Maybe he should pick up hours and go to work every day -- at least that would pass the time faster. When he got out, he called Sarah to tell her. 

"You don't have a wild murderer to catch?" she asked. John couldn't tell if she was smiling or not. 

"No. Uh -- Sherlock's mum is sick and he went to visit."

"You didn't go?" she asked, sounding properly surprised. The way she said it made John's cheeks warm. 

"We're just flatmates -- I mean, I had no business going," he said. "Look, that's not important. Can I come in for extra hours?"

"Yeah, you know we can always use the extra help. But don't take it out on me if you're having a domestic."

"We're not -- "

"See you!" Sarah giggled, hanging up before John could argue. He hung up the phone and looked over at Sherlock's chair. He didn't like this at all. 

Sherlock lay on the bed, drifting in and out of a kind of sleepless rest. Mycroft was right: Sherlock probably could benefit from a break. But Sherlock's brain was not as open to resting as his body was. He thought about Mrs Hudson -- what lie would she be told? He thought about Lestrade -- was he in on this as well? He thought about John -- wondering what he was doing in the flat, if he had a date tonight, if he would get used to being on his own without Sherlock's hassles. Sherlock didn't think John would. He hoped he wouldn't.

When the woman knocked at the door, Sherlock stood up to get his dinner. "This looks disgusting," she said, smiling at him. "If you want, I could bring you in some nicer food."  
  
Sherlock shook his head, took the tray and shut the door. Was she flirting with him? He wished John were here so he could ask his expert opinion. What did it matter anyway?  
  
He lifted the lid off the tray. There was a bowl of tomato soup, four cream crackers and some Angel Delight. Precisely what his mother used to make him when he stayed home poorly from primary school. He ate it all.

He spent a little time looking out the window. He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost nine. He wondered if he were in the same time zone as John. He got out the phone.

_I'm still bored. S_

John felt the phone vibrate in his pocket as he was making dinner. He sat down in Sherlock's chair with his plate, typing back quickly.

_I asked for extra hours so maybe the time will pass faster. -J_

_That does me no good. Have you heard from him at all today? S_

_No. But there was really no reason to. -J_

_I met a woman. S_

It took a good minute for John to realise the feeling in his chest was jealousy. It had burned very suddenly as soon as he read those words. But why? He went on dates all the time. Sherlock was allowed to. He wondered if it was because Sherlock hadn't told him he was into that sort of thing, friends were supposed to talk about things like that, weren't they?

_Is she nice? -J_

_Nicer than you. She brings me food on a tray and doesn't judge me for sleeping during the day or eating in bed. S_

John knew that he was joking -- well, he told himself Sherlock was joking -- but the words made him feel . . . not good. 

_Well. I guess you won't be bored anymore, then. -J_

_Flirting is also boring. S_

_Is she bad at it? -J_

_I lack data to compare. She might be your type. S_

_If she likes you I'm not_ her _type. -J_

_I don't understand what you mean. S_

_We look very different. Chances are if she's into tall, sharp-featured brunettes she's not going to be into a short blonde. -J_

_She doesn't like me, Mr Jones. S_

_PS Are my features sharp? Are you sure you didn't mean my faculties? S_

_She does if she's flirting. And yes, they are sharp. Women like that. -J_

_Trust me. She doesn't. She's just bored. Do men like it as well? S_

John smiled at the question. He'd forgotten about Sherlock's lack of expertise in this area, and suddenly that woman didn't bother him so much. 

_Yes. I think sharp features make people look good. Strong jawline, defined cheekbones. I've mentioned this to you before. -J_

_So now you're flirting with me? Are you just trying to prove flirting's not boring? S_

_I was just making an observation, something you of all people should not be scolding me about. -J_

_Now my feelings are hurt. S_

_Because I wasn't actually flirting? -J_

_Yes. Aren't my features sharp enough for you? S_

Sherlock lay back on the bed. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing.

John pulled his legs up in Sherlock's chair, resting his hands on his knees. What was he getting at?

_I just said that it made you look good. Handsome. -J_

_Is this flirting or not? S_

_Is it making you feel good? -J_

_And sweet on me? -J_

Sherlock thought for a moment.

_Yes. S_

_To both. S_

John felt his cheeks flush but he smiled softly. That felt better. 

_Then yeah, it's flirting. Because it's having the same effect on me. Your new girlfriend is going to be jealous. -J_

Sherlock smiled.

_Perhaps you should fight her. I'll award my affection to the winner. S_

_I won't physically fight her but I'm sure I can out-flirt her. -J_

_So far, you're winning. S_

John smiled wider. He was really enjoying this. 

_Excellent. A head start. Now, imagine I take you out but it's a closed off crime scene with a triple murder/apparent group suicide. -J_

_Very sexy. S_

_Better than lunch on a tray? -J_

_You can do that for me when we get back home. S_

_I can't have you thinking of her when you're with me. -J_

_You mean like how I'm obviously thinking of you now, despite my being with her? S_

_I'm struggling with feelings here. I like the first part and I hate the second part. -J_

_I usually struggle with feelings, Mr Jones. But I'm enjoying this. S_

_I wish you could enjoy it closer. -J_

_And if I were, would you be flirting like this? S_

_Honestly? Probably not. But only because I would have been nervous to start. -J_

_Are you going to stop now? S_

_No. Unless you want me to. -J_

_I don't. S_

_I miss you. -J_

_I miss you too. S_

John bit his lip and simply held the phone for a moment. This was new, different. Was this because Sherlock was far away? That made it easier, a bit, but what would happen when he came home? Would they talk like this? Or about this? Where had this even come from? He looked back at the text. 

_Don't let her seduce you, okay? -J_

_I don't seduce easily. You know that by now, don't you? S_

_Yes. But she might be tricky. -J_

_Don't you worry about that. No one is trickier than you. S_

_I'm not tricky! I'm sweet -J_

_I disagree. You are the trickiest person I've ever met. Though you are also quite sweet. S_

_How am I tricky? -J_

_You tricked me into feeling. S_

_I didn't. I maybe just showed you it's not all bad. Hopefully. -J_

_This is bad. S_

_Being away, I mean. S_

_From you. S  
_

John felt panic, then understanding, and then happiness. Sherlock needed to work on his delivery system.

_I know. It's awful. -J_

_It's surprised me. S_

_Me as well. To be honest I'm trying to figure it out still. -J_

_You're good at cases. I've no doubt you'll figure it out. S_

_You're better. What do you think? -J_

_You are my comfort. I didn't know until I needed it and you weren't there. S_

John curled up in the chair and felt his whole body warm. These things he was feeling-- they weren't new. Just different. He'd never felt them for a man before.

_I have to go to bed now. -J_

He clutched the phone against his forehead and he covered his face. That was probably not the best thing to send. He already felt guilty but he needed to sort this out.

Sherlock wondered if maybe the time zones were different. He looked at his watch but then remembered his watch was on London time. This seemed bizarrely early for John to go to bed. There was a knock at his door.  
  
"Not hungry," he called. He heard her lock the door from the outside and then walk away. He got up and put on his pajamas, realising he was still in yesterday's clothes, before he slipped into bed and turned off the lamp.

John waited a long time for a reply but there was nothing. Eventually he got up and went to bed, setting his alarm for work. Had he ruined it completely? He hoped not. He knew he should have said something more -- something better -- especially since he started it. He had a hard time sleeping again, feeling even worse this time than when bed shouted at Sherlock.

Sherlock left the phone on the pillow next to him. He wanted to say good night properly, but he didn't want to wake John. He looked over and wondered what it'd be like if John were lying there next to him. He wished he could find out.

John tossed and turned all night and when his alarm went off he could hardly get out of bed. He dragged himself into the shower and woke up a bit more. He didn't feel like breakfast but he packed a lunch and made some tea. He looked at the burner phone and decided to simply file away what happened yesterday and move on.


	4. Danger

_Good morning. -J_

Sherlock's sleep was not as deep as the previous night's. He got up a few times, twice having a cigarette at the window. He was back in bed when the phone vibrated.

_I'm still sleeping. S_

_Apologies. I'll try back later. -J_

John set off for work, walking since it was a bit early anyways.

Sherlock looked at the text. Strange. He'd been hoping for more flirting, but it seemed like John wasn't interested. He put the phone back on the pillow and closed his eyes until he heard a knock on the door. He got up and answered it, but the woman didn't say anything as she handed him the tray. It was the same breakfast as yesterday. But he wasn't really in the mood so he got back in bed.

When John got to his office he checked the phone and frowned slightly. Why hadn't he replied?

_Can I chat if I whisper? -J_

Sherlock had fallen asleep but rolled over and looked drowsily at the phone.

_Yes, please. S_

_[whispering] I impersonated you and got a leg from the morgue. It's shorter than mine, but it's working well enough. -J_

John started seeing patients, but luckily it wasn't too busy for the moment.

_Where's my tea then? You can't use the lost leg as an excuse anymore. S_

_[whispering] I have to strengthen it before I can walk all the way to you. -J_

_Talk normal. Did you sleep in my room? S_

_I thought about it but I didn't. -J_

_Are you still missing me? S_

_Yes. Work isn't helping. -J_

Sherlock smiled.

_I miss you too. S_

_How much longer? -J_

_I don't know, Mr Jones. I'm sorry. S_

_Well, two days down so far. -J_

_You've heard nothing from him? S_

_Not yet. You? -J_

John had just sent the message when someone walked into the office without knocking. He looked up and was about to ask the man to wait his turn but something wasn't right. He was in a suit, making his way to the desk quickly.

"Who are --"

"Where's Holmes?" the man asked, hands tight on the edge of the desk.

"Not here, obviously." John put the burner phone in his back pocket and slipped out his proper one.

"Is he in London?" he said angrily, coming around and grabbing John by the collar. "Where. Is. He?"

John tried to push him off and got a punch to the ribs instead. While he was doubled over he called Mycroft, letting it drop to the floor. "Get off me!"

"Talk!" the man shouted, hitting John's face now. John broke free and managed a few solid hits before he was shoved into the opposite wall. "This isn't the end!" the man said as stormed out and John went to the phone.

Mycroft had hung up. John ran after the man to try to catch him but was grabbed even before he stumbled out. He swung for a hit and just barely caught himself.

"Do clean yourself up," Mycroft said, handling him a handkerchief. "He's been detained."

John had no time to wonder how Mycroft had arrived so quickly, but then he might have been watching the area the whole time. His nose was bleeding and his side ached but nothing felt broken. He'd certainly had worse. "Don't tell him," John said, looking up at Mycroft. "Don't tell him what happened."

Mycroft merely rolled his eyes and left in a separate car. John headed back inside but didn't take another patient. He cleaned up in the bathroom and headed home for the day. When he walked in the place was a mess. He moved through slowly and jumped when his phone went off.

_Already cleared. -MH_

John rolled his eyes and started cleaning up the mess.

Sherlock had texted John to say he hadn't heard from Mycroft either, but there'd been no reply. He was annoyed at first, but then it dawned on him -- what if something happened to John? Or maybe Mycroft found out about the texting and had intervened? Why hadn't Mycroft been in touch? He typed a message to his brother.

_Call me._

Then phone vibrated immediately.

_Message not sent._

Sherlock threw the phone down the bed and rolled over to pout, even without an audience.


	5. Meaningless?

Once he was almost done cleaning up, John pulled out the burner phone and wondered how long ago Sherlock's message had come.

_Well, maybe he's busy getting you home. -J_

There was something about the way it was worded, without a mention of the delay, that worried Sherlock. He got up and went out to the front desk. He was halfway there before he realised he was still in his pajamas, but it was too late -- the door had shut and he had no way of getting in on his own.

"Good morning, Smith," the woman at the desk said. "I see you're going for the more casual look today."

"Will I be getting any visitors?" he asked.

She glanced down. "Not that I am aware," she answered. "Why? Are you looking for some company?" Then she blushed. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it to come out like that. I meant, are you expecting someone?"

He ignored her embarrassment and just answered, "No. Can you let me back in my room, please?"

She stood up and walked towards his room, unlocking the door. As he walked, she said, "I would walk around with you outside if you wanted. I mean if you don't want to go out alone. If you're worried . . . or lonely."

"I'm fine," Sherlock said. "Thanks anyway." He tried to make a not-stern face at her -- a smile would be gratuitous -- and then he shut the door. He retrieved the phone and sent a text.

_I think she's vying to take your place. S_

_Uh oh. What did she do? -J_

_She wants to move in with me. S_

_Well there's no room for that. -J_

_Well, she is pretty. And the fact that she's the only human I've spoken to in days does give her a certain appeal. Perhaps I had should just give in and start a new life here. S_

_But all of your stuff is here. What if I called you? Then you can speak to me. -J_

John couldn't help it. As much as he knew this was getting him deeper into things he couldn't stop.

_Call him and ask. S_

John sighed and used his regular phone to call Mycroft. "I want to call Sherlock."

"And I thought we weren't going to tell him about your little escapade this afternoon."

"I'm not. I just want to talk to him," John said.

"Burner phone, five minutes." And then Mycroft hung up the phone and John pulled out the burner phone, calling Sherlock instead.

"Has something happened?" Sherlock asked the moment the phone rang.

"No," John lied. "I just wanted to hear you," he said.

"You're lying," Sherlock said. "I need to speak to him. I need to come back now."

"It's fine! Look, someone came asking for you. That's all," John said quickly. "He has it under control."

"Tell him you need a holiday as well," Sherlock said.

John looked around the room. "He won't send me to you."

"Have you asked? Just let him send you somewhere safe."

"I am fine here. The guy's been taken care of and it shouldn't be for much longer."

"I want to come back. I miss home. I . . . miss you," Sherlock said. He realised he was whispering as if that made any difference to their safety.

John closed his eyes. "I miss you, too," he said quietly. "But you'll be home soon."

"Is this just you flirting?" Sherlock said, clearing his throat a little.

John flushed lightly and looked around again. "It's not the same without you here," he said.

"I'm sure it's not," Sherlock said. "Don't get used to it, all right?"

"I promise I won't," John said. He looked at Sherlock's chair. "How could I?"

"We should hang up. Will you flirt with me later? I like it," Sherlock asked. The honesty was making his face burn, even alone in his room.

"I will," John said quietly. "I'll text you later, okay?" 

There was a knock on Sherlock's door. He heard the woman shout, "Five minutes."  
  
"You're a thousand times better than her," Sherlock whispered into the phone. "See you soon." He hung up the phone. "Go away," he called to her, waiting to hear her footsteps down the hallway.

John looked at the phone for a little while before he got himself up and cleaning again. It took most of the day to get everything in order again and he was glad nothing was actually damaged. He set Sherlock's violin gently on the chair and got ready for bed.

Sherlock lay on the bed for a while. He hadn't ever really felt like this towards John before, but in all honesty, he rarely thought about his feelings at all.

A little later, he heard a soft knock on his door. He went to open it.

"Enjoy your phone call?" the woman asked, handing him his tray. "Was it Mrs Smith?"

"No," Sherlock said. "There is no Mrs Smith."  
  
"I see. Then . . . what's your problem? I mean, I'm sorry if I've offended you or something. I mean, I'm not desperate or anything . . . it's just -- it's just flirting. It's meaningless," she said, trying to straighten up a little.

"Um," Sherlock said. "I'm just . . . it's just that I'm impolite. Sorry." He shut the door. She locked it. "Thank you," he called sarcastically and moved with his tray over to the bed. He picked up his phone and saw there was a text from John.

_I'm going to sleep in your bed tonight. -J_

Sherlock wondered about what the woman had said. Was she right? Was flirting meaningless?

_Thank you. Do you plan to do that once I return? S_

John curled up under the covers. Everything smelled like Sherlock. 

_I don't think so--won't be much room. -J_

_How many people did you flirt with today? S_

_None. Well, except you. -J_

_Why me? S_

_I like you. -J_

_You liked me before. And you spent all your time flirting with any woman in a ten mile radius. Why now? S_

_I think I am a flirt without meaning to be. Flirting is a stepping stone to a relationship. -J_

_I don't believe that to be true. If it were, you'd have been in a hundred relationships. S_

_Haven't I? Short ones that never work out? -J_

_I happen to know flirting is meaningless. We can continue because I do like it, but don't think you're fooling me. S_

_It's not meaningless. -J_

_Then what does it mean? S_

_You know what it means. -J_

_No, I don't. I don't know these things. You know I don't. S_

_I told you before about what flirting means. Interest. Attraction. -J_

_When you say attraction, I think you mean distraction. It's fine. I need a distraction. S_

"It's not just a distraction," John murmured against the pillow.

_Well, I'm glad I could help. -J_

_You always help. How can I help you? S_

_I don't need any help. Just come home. -J_

_I'd like to. When you spoke to him, did he say when? S_

_No. He hardly said anything. -J_

Sherlock sighed.

_What would make you feel better tonight, Mr Jones? What can I do for you? S_

_Tell me why you've been flirting back. -J_

_Because it made me feel good. S  
_

John stared at the words for a moment. Made him feel good the way John was thinking or perhaps good as in he wasn't bored for the moment? It was hard to tell with Sherlock, especially over texting. But he felt good, too. Flirting with Sherlock. 

_Yeah. It makes me feel good, too. -J_

_Is this all part of your flirting? S_

_Is it still making you feel good? PS. Your bed is more comfortable than mine. -J_

_What exactly are you doing in my bed? S_

_Just lying down. I have a movie on but I'm not really watching. -J_

_Are you going to do something unusual in my bed? S_

_I take it you mean something other than sleeping. -J_

_I am referring to masturbation. Are you going to do that? Is that what flirting is making you want to do? S_

"Jesus," John murmured, gripping the phone tighter. 

_I wasn't thinking about it until you said it. -J_

_So you're going to? In my bed? S_

Sherlock thought about that for a moment. Tried to think about what it made him feel. He wasn't sure.

_I don't think so. It's just a regular movie. -J_

He groaned as soon as he sent that -- there had been no reason at all to say that. Things were getting heavy again but John was trying to fight it. 

_That's the only way you can do it? That seems like a medical problem. You should see a doctor. How do your girlfriends feel about that? S_

_That's not the only way. I just didn't want you to think I crawled into your bed to watch porn. Is the flirting making you feel like masturbating? -J_

_It hasn't yet. It's mostly made me feel like pressing against you. But you're not here. S_

John closed his eyes and couldn't help imagining it -- Sherlock in the bed with him, pressing against him. When people made the assumption that they were dating, John pictured them doing just that -- dinners, holding hands, just normal date stuff. It never really bothered him because they basically did all of that anyways. But this -- pressing bodies together -- he had never imagined that before and he didn't know how he felt about it. _Really good._ But what would that mean for them? He looked at the text again and bit hit lip. 

_I guess I'll take a raincheck. -J_

_Would you want me to do that if I were there? S_

_Yes. I can't stop thinking about it. -J_

_You dirty bugger. S_

_You are! You started it. -J_

_Look. Stop mucking about. Are you going to wank in my bed? Yes or no. S_

_No. I don't think that's a good idea. -J_

_Just because there's no porn? S_

_No. Because it's your bed and you're getting involved and when you come home I'll have to move out. -J_

He knew that was a bit dramatic but he couldn't help it. If he did this there would be no living with Sherlock afterwards. 

_What are you talking about? I've wanked in your bed but I didn't have to move out. Why would it make any difference the other way round? S_

_When did you wank in my bed? -J_

_Every morning after you leave for work. S_

_Are you serious? Why? -J_

Sherlock had a little think. This wasn't as fun as last night, and he tried to determine why. It seemed like John was more cautious. Maybe the woman was wrong; maybe flirting wasn't meaningless. John didn't seem to think so. So why was John doing it? What did it mean to him? Or to Sherlock?

It had made Sherlock feel warm. It had made him realise that he thought of John as more than the one tolerable person he knew. As more than a flatmate and more than a friend. As what then? Sherlock didn't know that answer, but in all honesty, he didn't really care. John _was_ comfort. That's the main thing that mattered to Sherlock at the moment.

_Of course I'm not serious. I'm just trying to make you feel better about doing it if you want to. You can. S_

John covered his face and rubbed his forehead. "Sherlock, what are you doing to me?" he mumbled.

_Don't worry. I'm not going to masturbate in your bed. -J_

_I feel slightly disappointed by that. S  
_

_But you're not even here to see. -J_

_I don't need to see. I just wanted to know. S_

_Why? -J_

John swallowed hard and turned on his back. It was crazy! He turned his head and looked to the other side of the bed, to the imaginary Sherlock lying there and waiting for John to start. He sent another text.

_Are you going to do it? -J_

_I don't know_

Sherlock typed it because it was his first answer to both of John's questions. But if none of this was meaningless, perhaps that wasn't fair. He deleted it and tried to think carefully.

_Because it's something private that would be just between us. I like things that are just between us. I don't like things that involve other people. And I'll do it too if it would help. S_

He wasn't quite sure what he meant by 'would help' but it was too late, he'd already hit Send.

John bit his lip and read the message. He just couldn't tell if Sherlock was curing boredom or if he really meant these things. John took a deep, slow breath and nodded even though no one could see him. 

_Okay. -J_

_Set the phone down and come back once you're done. Take your time. It's not a race. S_

Sherlock set the phone next to him. Then he stood up, got into his pajamas and slipped under the covers. He turned over and looked at the pillow next to him, imagining John was there. He wondered what he really would do, if he were there. But he wasn't, so Sherlock didn't need to be distracted by that thought. Instead he thought about leaning in and pressing against John as he had thought of before. About John's arms falling around him and holding him. He slipped a hand down the front of his pajama bottoms and held himself, imagining he was being held by John.

John set the phone down and licked his lips lightly before closing his eyes. He imagined Sherlock's arms going around him, his body crowding John's against the bed as they kissed, as they ground together. He pushed his hand into his pants and stroked himself slowly. He couldn't stop seeing it, seeing Sherlock tearing at his clothes, taking his own clothes off, their skin touching heatedly. "Oh God," John moaned softly. He reached his hand out to the side but Sherlock wasn't there. John gripped the bed and imagined his body, imagined what Sherlock would look like naked over him. Lean, fit, grinding down against him. "Fuck," he breathed, coming into his hand as he moaned Sherlock's name softly. When it was over he wiped his hand on his pants and pulled them up again. He reached for the phone, biting his lip. 

_Did you do it? -J_

Sherlock began stroking himself, still with the image of his body pressed against John's. In his mind, John was there stroking himself as well. Sherlock curled his body around the imaginary John and started stroking faster. He imagined John stroking faster, he imagined resting his head on John's chest and closing his eyes, but feeling the movement of John's hand in sync with Sherlock's hand. He realised he was in his mind palace -- that John and him masturbating together now existed in his mind palace -- but he couldn't stop now, the tension was building and then they were both coming in his imagination and he came for real in his hand. He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. And then his phone vibrated. He stared at the message for a moment and then wrote back.

_Yes. S_

_Me too. -J_

_I'm ready to come home, Jones. S_

_Yeah, I'm ready for you to come home, too, Mr Smith. -J_

_I'm going to sleep now. I'll talk to you soon. S_

Sherlock tried Mycroft's number again, but the call would not go through. He rolled over in bed and tried to sleep.

John got up and cleaned himself off properly, changing his pants and then Sherlock's sheets as well. Then he climbed back into his bed and scooted more towards the middle. He didn't know which side Sherlock slept on but when he closed his eyes he imagined them curled together on the same side. He fell asleep shortly after that. 


	6. Back to Baker Street

In the morning, Mycroft was back at Baker Street, knocking on the door. Why was Watson such a deep sleeper? He reached down and jimmied the lock, stepping inside. "Doctor Watson, are you here?"

John shifted and stretched, sitting up when he heard the calling. Was it Sherlock? He threw on a t-shirt and walked out of his room in his pants. "Hello?" he called, coming into the sitting room. "Oh, Mycroft," he said, flushing lightly as he realised where he came from. 

"Were you sleeping in Sherlock's room?" Mycroft asked.

John simply looked at him, knowing that he knew the answer to that. "What are you doing here? Did something else happen?"

Mycroft looked John up and down and then shook his head lightly. He said, "The threat has been taken care of. I'll be retrieving my brother today. I thought I'd come by to see if you have decided you preferred not having him as a flatmate. Do you want me to take him elsewhere?"

"No! No," John said, the second time a bit more calmly. "I want him to come back here." John checked the time and figured he would go into work until Sherlock came home. "What time will he be back?"

"We should be back here around five," Mycroft said. "The burner phone, please?" he said, holding his hand out.

John padded back into the bedroom and got the phone. 

_I have to give up the phone. See you soon. -J_

He sent the message before coming back out and giving it to Mycroft.

Sherlock woke to the noise of the phone. Why did John have to give up the phone? But before he could text back, there was a knock at the door. "Breakfast," he heard the woman say but when he opened the door, she had just left the tray on the floor. "Thanks," he said into the empty hallway and went back in his room.

_Why? S_

He sat down on the bed to eat and wait for John's reply.

John heard the phone vibrate, but Mycroft was already leaving and he couldn't do anything about it. He went to get ready for work, taking a quick shower and skipping breakfast. His first patient was a woman bringing her mum in for a checkup to renew a prescription. It was supposed to be a quick one but she was flirting and wouldn't leave. John tried everything to get rid of her but she only continued insisting, pressuring him to go on a date with her. His patients were piling up and in the end he had no choice but to accept. After she finally left he figured it would be the best way to get back to normal: John would go on a pointless date and Sherlock would bother him until he came home. Just like always. Hopefully by then there would be no need to actually talk about the texting. If it had been some game to Sherlock they could forget it and if it was real . . . well, they could figure that out later.  

Sherlock ate his breakfast with still no word from John. He started to feel a bit sick in his stomach.

_Where are you? S_

_What's going on? S_

After about awhile, he heard a knock on the door. "Pack your stuff," the woman said. "You leave in two hours."

Sherlock's heart jumped. Surely this was good -- he was going home. But why hadn't Mycroft called to tell him? He wouldn't leave if it weren't his brother here to get him. He packed up his things and sat on the bed waiting, the burner phone resting on one thigh. When he realised he was too anxious, he got a pack of cigarettes and went out to the front desk.

"I need to go out to have a smoke," he said to the woman. "Even if it means wearing the disguise."  
  
"It appears you're fine to go as yourself, Mr Smith," she said, barely looking up at him.

"Do you want to join me?" he asked. It was the closest to an apology as he could think of.

She looked up. "All right then," she said.

They went out the front door and she locked it behind them. Sherlock leaned against the side of the building and lit a cigarette, which he handed to her, before lighting one for himself.

"So what is your problem with me then?" she asked. "You can be honest. We'll never see each other again so go ahead and give me the brutal truth. Maybe it'll help me in the future. Was I too pushy? Too fat? Not pretty enough? Just not your type? What was it?" She was looking out towards the empty road.

"Why were you flirting?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, it's boring here. I mean, you're good looking -- better than most of the old men who come stay here -- I just thought it'd make your stay more interesting. For both of us. It didn't mean anything," she said, still not looking over.

"Maybe that's your problem," Sherlock said. "Maybe it should mean something." He stubbed out his cigarette and said, "I'm ready to go back in. I'll wait in my room."

She threw her cigarette down and unlocked the front door, walking through to Sherlock's room and unlocking that one as well.

Sherlock sat down on his bed to wait. Eventually the burner phone vibrated.

_Ten minutes._

He picked up the phone next to the bed and the woman answered it.

"I won't come out until I know who is here to retrieve me," he said.

"Fair enough," she said.

Ten minutes later, the phone by the bed rang. It was Mycroft. "Time to go home," he said and hung up. Sherlock picked up his bag and the case and left the room. As he passed the front desk, he said, "The service here was excellent" and left a folded piece of paper on the counter. She opened it and read:

_Not fat. Very pretty._

Mycroft and Sherlock got in the car and it pulled off.

As the day was dragging along John kept checking the clock, watching the time get closer and closer to five and knowing Sherlock was going to be home soon. He was getting distracted and slow and he had to keep hurrying to see the patients he needed to see before he could leave. He wanted to be home before Sherlock, but it didn't seem likely. 

Once they were on the plane, Sherlock asked, "All's well?"

"The problem has been taken care of," Mycroft, who was already looking at his phone, said. Then he put his phone away and turned to Sherlock. "Though there may be a new problem. At the flat."

Sherlock's heart dropped. "What? Has something happened to John?" Every muscle in his body tensed.

"It seems . . . your little game last night may have unintended consequences."  
  
"What game?" Sherlock said.

"You know precisely what I'm talking about," Mycroft said. "That business is, of course, your business, but you know very well that relationships of that sort cause nothing but trouble for people like us Well, for all people, but especially people like us."

Sherlock did his best to keep his face from blushing. "Right -- it's my business but you have to know all about it?"  
  
"I'm just protecting you -- all this was to protect you, you know," Mycroft said.

"You don't need to protect me from John," Sherlock said, refusing to look over at him.

"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't," Mycroft said. "Perhaps I am protecting John from you."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He slept in your room last night."  
  
Sherlock liked that idea, but would not let that feeling reveal itself on his face. "John and I will be just fine. We work well together and everything is fine at the flat. It'll be fine," Sherlock said. It would be, wouldn't it?

"I hope so," Mycroft said. "You're enough of a liability on your own. John Watson is supposed to have calmed you, not . . . aroused more excitability."  
  
"Go to hell," Sherlock said. "John has nothing to do with you. He moved in because of me, not you. We're friends because of me, not you. You've not hired him to be my caretaker. We're fine. Just leave us alone." He turned to stare out the window.  
  
At the surgery, the line of patients seemed endless. Every time John opened the door to let one of them leave, another one was coming into the office. It had just gone five then. He couldn't see any more or else he'd be here all night. Finally, he started packing his things to go. He was going to get a cab so he could get home faster. 

Mycroft and Sherlock sat in silence the rest of the flight, which was significantly shorter than the flight out, though it still seemed to take too long for Sherlock. He could not wait to get home. They shared a cab from the airfield and stopped at Baker Street first.

"Welcome home," Mycroft said, handing his brother his phone back as Sherlock opened the door. "I'm glad Mother's feeling better."  
  
Sherlock shut the door without saying anything. Mycroft was so frustrating -- Sherlock knew that all of this had been to protect whatever information he had, but his brother had been also looking after him as well, even if neither one admitted it. The food choices, the journals, the cigarettes, even letting him communicate with John. All those things had been done for Sherlock. Mycroft was infuriating in that way.

"John?" Sherlock called as he burst through the door. But John wasn't there. Sherlock looked around the flat -- a few things seemed different and Sherlock wondered why. He threw his bag into his room and took a shower. The hot water and his usual shampoo and soap felt good, felt like home. He put on some clean clothes and made a cup of tea. He looked over his phone. There were no new messages, no messages at all. They'd all be deleted. As were his contacts. But he didn't need his contact list for John. He typed in his number and sent a text.

_Where are you? I'm home. SH_

_Traffic. I'm on my way. -JW_

John smiled are the text -- it was just like before. And even though it was only a few days for some reason, it felt like so much longer. When he was two streets away and they stopped again, he paid the driver and got out there, hurrying along the crowded sidewalk. Finally he was going up the stairs and then bursting into the flat. "Sherlock?" he called, hanging his jacket. 

Sherlock jumped a little and stood up. "John," he said, moving towards him. "I'm glad you're all right." He moved towards him and gave him an awkward hug, ending with a pat on the back. "I'm glad you're home. I'm glad I'm home." Why was he talking so stupidly? He moved towards the kitchen to make a cup of tea for him. "Were you at work? Yes, you said you were going into work." Perhaps he should just stop talking until he was sure he could do so properly.

John looked at him and realised he didn't really know how to act now. "Um, yeah, it was busy," he said. "So, are you back for good now?" he asked. He looked around the room and wondered if Sherlock could tell something had happened here. He wondered if Mycroft had told him about what had happened to him. 

"Yes, whatever the issue was appears to be gone," Sherlock said, handing John a mug of tea. He sat down on his chair. "Do you want to just order in then?"

"Well, I have I date actually . . . " As soon as the words came out John knew they were wrong, he knew that he should have ditched that woman and stayed here. "Bit of a pain really," he added quietly. But it would be okay because Sherlock would text him and he would come home and it would be like before. He hadn't mentioned the flirting or the thing with his bed. Maybe that was just far away talk. 

Sherlock lifted a hand to his chest. It felt funny. He made a little cough. Maybe he'd just swallowed wrong. "Oh," Sherlock said. "Okay. All right." He took another sip of tea. "Okay. That's okay. I'm not that hungry anyway." He looked over at John. "Where'd you meet this one?"

"She was at the office and she got a bit pushy," John said. He watched Sherlock's actions and he felt even worse. "But you know the drill. I'm going to get ready real quick." He hurried up to his room, throwing something on without much thought before making his way back down stairs. "So . . . I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Sure, I'll see you when you get back," Sherlock said. "Have a good time." He stood up and went to the sink to wash his mug. As he did, he imagined John flirting with this woman. Would it be like how he flirted with Sherlock? Sherlock's chest hurt again. He went into his room and lay down on his bed. He remembered that John had slept there. Had masturbated there. He pulled down the covers and got in the bed. It was a million times more comfortable than where he had been sleeping. He closed his eyes and imagined John here last night. And then he imagined John at dinner, flirting with the woman. Would John even come home tonight -- would he go home with her and have sex with her? The day after what happened with Sherlock? Why did he make a date the night Sherlock was coming home? Why was John doing all this? All of a sudden it became clear.

The woman had been right. Flirting was meaningless.


	7. It Doesn't Feel Normal

John left with a heavy feeling in his chest, turning up the volume on his phone. When Sherlock texted he wanted it to be obvious -- he wanted it to be really in her face because of the way she had acted before. They met up in the pub, and he was hardly in his seat when she started talking. He could hardly get a word in but that was fine. All he had to do was nod along and wait for the text. An hour into the date, he found himself checking the phone to make sure it was still on, that the sound was up, that he had service. Why wasn't Sherlock texting him home like normal? He was dragged into a dance, and then a second one. He pulled her back to their seats, ordering another round. Still no messages. He was getting hurt now- - had it all really been nothing? Just curing boredom? As much as he had been dreading talking about, it he definitely didn't want this. 

"Sorry, am I boring you?" his date asked suddenly, her tone angry. 

John looked up from checking the volume for the thirtieth time. "No. Something's come up," he said, standing up. 

"You can't be serious," she snapped, standing as well and gripping his arm. 

John pulled his arm away and grabbed his coat. "Yeah, I am serious and frankly, even if we finished this date, there wouldn't have been a second one. You need to work on your aggression." Her mouth dropped open but he turned and walked out without another word. He didn't understand. His hurt started twisting into annoyance. When he got to the flat he stormed up the stairs and burst into the sitting room. Sherlock wasn't even there! "Hello?" he shouted.  

Sherlock had fallen asleep. Thinking and feeling were too exhausting. Mycroft had been right: his relationship with John had felt different for just a couple days and already it was trouble.

When he heard John call him, he jolted up. "John," he called, moving from his bed and into the other room. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"What's -- were you sleeping?" John asked. Somehow this felt worse: he didn't call John home because he couldn't even care enough to stay up for him. A completely selfish thought, of course. Sherlock had been God knows where and was probably tired. But John was annoyed with being late coming home and then seeing that obnoxious girl and then Sherlock acting as if nothing had happened between them. And then there was the fact that he had feelings for his best friend and he still wasn't sure how to deal with that. "Nothing. Sorry I woke you," he said, moving into the kitchen for a glass of water.  

"John," Sherlock said. "What's wrong? Why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you," he lied, pouring the water too quickly and spilling some over the side. He tore some kitchen roll to clean it up. "Why didn't you text me to come home?" he asked, not looking over at him. 

"Because you always shout at me when I do," Sherlock said.

"That's never stopped you before!" John said, tossing the towel onto the counter. "That has never stopped you and after everything--" He broke off again and shook his head. "Just forget it. I'm glad you're not bored anymore and things can go back to normal. I'm going to bed." He moved around Sherlock and headed for the stairs. He climbed up quickly, wanting to just lie down and sort all of this out in his head. 

"Is everything normal, John? It doesn't feel normal," Sherlock called after him. "Your greeting when I got home . . . that didn't seem normal. That didn't seem like . . . like the Mr Jones I've been texting with. And then you had to have a date tonight? I know you knew I was coming home today. I know Mycroft was here and told you." He sat down in his chair. "None of that seemed normal."

"My going on dates and you interrupting them is normal. The date was . . . I don't know. It felt like I had no choice and I only did it thinking you would have me home within the hour anyways. And don't tell me I'm not who you were texting because the guy I was texting. . . I don't even think he really exists." He walked into his room and shut the door a bit hard, leaning against it for a moment before going to his bed and sinking down on it. He set the glass down and sighed, covering his face. 

"Don't turn this on me, John," Sherlock said, stood up, following John. "You've not even given me a chance to be . . . normal or different -- you've not given me a chance to be anything. You just got back, like it was any other day, and took off on your stupid date, just like any other day. Mycroft was right -- this kind of thing leads to nothing but trouble." He was standing outside John's closed door now, his voice louder than it needed to be, louder than he wanted it to be. But he was angry. Well, he concentrated on being angry because what he really was was hurt.

"Oh great. That's bloody fantastic, Sherlock. I'm glad your brother dissected it all and gave his expert opinion," John snapped. He flushed, not liking that Mycroft had been a third party to the things they had been talking about. "But that's what you guys do best, isn't it? What did you call it -- a weakness?" He stood up and was pacing now, rubbing his temples.   

"And thank you for proving him right!" Sherlock shouted. It was hard now, the hurt rearing up again. It hurt him in his heart and in his head. It hurt everywhere.

"I'm sorry that you've been so inconvenienced by the game you started," John shouted back, pulling the door open. "Will you leave me alone now?"

Sherlock couldn't look up. "I got everything so wrong," he said. "Let's just leave each other alone."

"Yeah, great. Now that I've realised I'm in love with you, we'll just leave each other alone," John snapped. 

Sherlock's mind stopped at the word love and he stepped forward and pulled John to him, pressing their bodies together, and kissing his mouth roughly. He was pressed into John, just like he'd imagined, and he couldn't think of anything else but the thoughts from last night.

It was about four seconds into the kiss that John realised what he had said, and when his brain finally caught on, he noticed his body had continued on without him. He was kissing Sherlock back with equal urgency, tugging him forward by the hips as he moved into the room. He knew they should talk but he felt like if they broke apart now, everything would be ruined. He pressed up into the kiss, opening his mouth to make it deeper to keep him close. 

Sherlock pressed into John harder, walking them back towards John bed, both of them falling onto it. He continued kissing and pressing, his hips moving against John's and he could feel himself getting hard, like last night, but it wasn't just from his imagination. He wanted John now -- in real life -- he wanted John this way and he didn't care what it changed tomorrow. He slid a hand down John's body, gripping his hips as the kiss got even more hungry.

John moaned softly as he felt Sherlock pressing him into the bed. His hands worked at Sherlock's shirt, tugging at the buttons so he could push it from his shoulders. He wanted more -- he wanted so much more and he felt like he couldn't get enough. He arched his chest and rolled his hips for contact. 

Sherlock lifted up a bit and helped John pull his jumper over his head. He lay back down and the feel of skin against skin sent electricity through him. He dropped his head and sucked on John's skin and then moved lower, covering John's collarbone with kisses before moving to his chest. He rolled his hips to meet John's own movement.

John pushed his fingers into Sherlock's hair and didn't know whether to pull him up for more kisses or to encourage him lower. He wanted to feel so much, to do so much to him. "Sherlock," he breathed, daring to finally speak because it was so good and he couldn't keep quiet much longer. 

"Take off the rest of your clothes, John," Sherlock said as he moved to take off his own. He pulled the blanket down and got under the covers, grabbing at John as soon as he was naked, pulling him to lie next to him on the sheets.

John writhed out of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor and pressed against Sherlock as soon as he could, looking along his body as his hands moved down his chest and stomach, grazing his fingers over his cock. It was odd touching him like this -- touching something the same but not his own. He met Sherlock's gaze as he gripped him properly, kissing his mouth again. 

Sherlock moved John's hand to his own cock. "Like last night," he whispered and then held himself, slowly stroking. He leaned in to kiss John hard again, his free hand holding John's hip and rocking it a little. His whole body felt hot and it felt like the entire bed was moving with all of their movement. He moaned a little into the kiss and then pressed his face against John's, saying his name softly as his stroke increased.

"Sherlock -- touch me," John murmured, kissing Sherlock's jaw and neck as he stroked himself hard and fast. He was so close already -- he'd never felt something so intense so quickly. "Fuck," he moaned, bucking into his hand and against Sherlock. 

This seemed scarier, but Sherlock did as he'd been told, stroking John's cock as he had stroked his own.

John gripped Sherlock and continued the same movement, finding his mouth again and kissing him hard. "M'close," he panted heavily.

Sherlock sped up his hand. He too was so close but he wanted John to finish first. He was worried if he did, his whole body would explode. "Please," he moaned softly as he pressed himself against John.

John found his mouth again, kissing him as he let go. He groaned into the kiss, pulling away as he sucked in air and moaned for Sherlock over and over again, his orgasm tearing through him.

Feeling John let go pushed Sherlock over the edge and he came as well, more intensely than ever before in his life. His eyes squeezed shut and he was sure he'd forgotten how to breathe. When it was over, he let go of John and rolled back a little, panting.

John fall onto his back, panting heavily and still mumbling Sherlock's name. He reached his hand out until he found Sherlock's, taking it into his own and merely holding on to him for some kind of contact. He could hardly believe it. 

"It means something, doesn't it, John? It must," Sherlock whispered, holding John's hand.

"Yes it does," John murmured, swallowing hard as he caught his breath. He turned his head and looked at Sherlock. Then he rolled onto his side and moved the hair from his face gently. "I think it did from the beginning." 

"I love you back," Sherlock said quietly. "If you meant it . . ."

"I did mean it," John said quickly. "I mean it." He tugged Sherlock's hand lightly to make him turn to face him. 

"You _are_ my comfort, John," Sherlock said. "I missed it. I missed you." He turned on his side and pressed himself against John, burying his face in his chest.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pet his hair. "You're my comfort too," he murmured. "I missed you so much."  
  
Sherlock let John hold him. He pulled him as close as possible. He felt John's heart beating. He felt like this was home.


End file.
